“Before I let you die, I will give you the privilege of watching your pathetic brother slowly fade away at my hands; but first I want to give you something… something I wanted to give you since we were boys.”
Iltar stretches out his palm and a small swirl of yellowish-green magic gracefully forms. He lets it loose, and it continues to grow and take shape. It floats near Alacor and rests over his waist. Fully formed, the ball of liquid slowly loses cohesion and drips. A droplet falls below Alacor’s waist and splashes against his robe as he continues to roll from the pain. The acidic magic slowly eats away at the fibrous material and rolls along his bare skin down to his groin. The added pain only builds the old necromancer’s pleading screams. He attempts to roll away from the hovering orb, but Iltar catches view of the attempt.
“Stay!” Iltar shouts at the top of his lungs and he yells the words to another incantation. Swirling greenish magical particles wisp from his hands and wraps around Alacor; the magic fully forms and the green tentacles grip Alacor and bind him to the ground, placing his most delicate parts beneath Iltar’s torturing magic.
“That’s better,” Iltar sneers in a sinister tone. He then turns to the grappled necromancer who is barely standing on his feet in order to avoid suffocation from the mage’s parasite.
“Now for you…”
13
Consequences
Several hours have passed since Iltar secretly entered the chambers where the last members of the council would meet their demise. In the hallway outside, the men who had helped lay siege to the inner sanctum of Sorothian magic hear the last dying wail of Alacor, the former leader of the now dead Necrotic Order.
Once it’s quiet, the four mages who were sealing the doors take deep breaths of relief.
“Finally, it’s over,” Hagen gasps as he slumps down against the wall across from the doors. He hides in the shadow cast by the lower part of the wall beneath the waist to ceiling high windows on the fourth floor of the main building.
“Iltar hasn’t come out yet,” Cornar turns to the illusionist exhausted from both the toll of wielding the magic as well as the weight of emotions filling his mind.
“Yes…” Hagen sighs, “But he’s dead. Just like the last one we heard stop screaming, it was exactly the same.”
“Well…” a sly voice calls out from Cornar’s right, and toward the northern part of the hall, “We all know Iltar. He’s probably caused the man to pass out and we’ll hear more screams shortly.”
“You sound like you’re looking forward to that, Tilthan,” Cornar turns his head and looks at the thief standing alone at the far end of the corridor.
In response, Tilthan shrugs at Cornar’s accusation of sadism, then quips, “That’s what happens when you work for a guy that’s twisted and sadistic; it rubs off on you.”
Cornar and several of the others chuckle at the remark but are interrupted by footsteps from behind them.
Emerging from the small anteroom adjoining the council hall, Iltar strides toward the warriors and mages in the hallway. Following close behind are Nordal, Clodin and Dith.
“Someone get the guards to clean up that mess!” Iltar demands in a raised voice.
“Midar,” Cornar says while partially looking over his shoulder to Iltar. “Go get the captain of the guard. Tell him it’s finished.”
Iltar’s eyes narrow at Cornar’s last comment and then asks, “I take it a patrol came by?”
“Yes,” Cornar answers. “We captured them. Hagen summoned some ropes, and we bound them. Soon after Captain Arelo appeared. I told him to go back to the guard’s quarters and wait for you, then we released the guards on the same conditions.”
“Good,” Iltar blurts, “I’m ready to get out of here. I’m hungry and tired of this place.”
With that said, Iltar pushes his way past Cornar and through the crowd just beyond the warrior.
The three wizards and the one illusionist look at the necromancer but he pays no attention to them.
Once Iltar passes, Hex motions for the other mages who had been helping him to relinquish the magic binding the door. As they do so, the rest of the band follows Iltar down the spiral staircases to the first floor.
Cornar notices Amendal is not with them and shouts, “Amendal we’re leaving!” the warrior takes a sweeping glance around the corridor then proceeds to the stairs.
Just as Cornar reaches the highest step, Amendal emerges from the doors leading to the council chambers and the warrior turns to wait for the eldest member of their band.
“I spat on their faces!” Amendal cackles with diabolical glee.
Grimly grinning, Cornar shakes his head and the two men descend the stairs; the rest of their party having already descended that flight of stairs.
Meanwhile, on the first floor, Iltar strides toward the main doors and the necromancer can hear footsteps from the grand foyer. He takes a deep breath and lets it out with slight annoyance.
As they near the intersection of the hall and the grand foyer, Iltar turns to the others and motions for them to follow him. Just as he rounds the corner Midar and the captain of the guard almost bump into him.
“There,” Iltar points to where the two men had just come from, “I’m tired and we’ll talk while I sit.”
With no sense of regard for the two men, Iltar pushes them aside. He makes his way to the small sitting area on his left, to one of several high back chairs that are positioned squarely at the northeast corner of the foyer; the backs of the chairs and sofas are aligned with the runners of carpet which lead to the underground guard house and the grand stairwell.
Just after he sits down, Iltar gazes up along the three story tall granite-like walls and finally to the ceiling carved from the same rock. It is then that the necromancer begins his speech.
“Captain Arelo, the council is dead. I killed them,” Iltar closes his eyes and holds out one of his opened palms toward the captain. “They were conspiring to overthrow the government, then eventually do the same to other cities across the world,” Iltar stops and waits to see if the captain will believe his story.
After several seconds of silence, Arelo speaks up, “How do I know you’re telling the truth? You could have killed them to advance yourself to the head of this Order, which is pretty much dead now.”
Still with his eyes closed, Iltar smiles and resumes, “Send for the City Watch, have them search our buildings. There is evidence here that will prove my story true. You see Captain, a matter of great attention came to the council about one month ago. There were scrolls and books discovered on an expedition that were delivered to us. Those texts contained a legend of a powerful artifact that could control dragons–”
“Are you serious Master Iltar?!” Arelo loudly interrupts, “There are no dragons around, they don’t exist!”
“Quiet!” Iltar snarls, his eyes still closed, “If you would remain silent you wouldn’t be confused!
“The scrolls also told of an island, it was written in elvish and from the translation we discovered it was a graveyard. I, along with Cornar, were tasked with putting together a secret mission, using the guise of recruiting more acolytes, and then to see out the island.
“We found it, but it proved to be a dangerous place. We lost seven of the twenty people that went ashore with us and we came back with nothing to show.
“I called this meeting to inform the council what transpired, but when they learned what happened they tried to kill me. However I came prepared because I knew they would attempt to strike at myself and everyone who was with me. We only defended ourselves.”
“Then why did you take so long up there?” the captain asks, still suspicious of Iltar’s story.
“Because I was trying to get the evidence’s location out of them you fool!” Iltar abruptly opens his eyes and looks hard at the man in front of him.
“Okay… I suppose that seems plausible, what did you get out of them?”
“Nothing,” Iltar retorts. “The fools were
closed lip until their dying breaths. Either way they were too dangerous to be left alive, and the texts should be destroyed. There is no point sending more men to their deaths over a falsity.”
Hearing Iltar’s explanation, Captain Arelo’s eyes narrow then he turns to Midar, “Go summon the City Watch.”
* * * * *
After the space of ten minutes, the nearest members of the City Watch arrive. Then, soon after more, of their police-like organization. The members of the Watch set guards of their own at the outer gate of the magical order, and the rest are inside the main building. Some are searching the rooms while others interrogate the men who helped in the fatal assault.
The story all the members of Iltar’s expedition shared was the same, with only slight variations from their personal perspectives. Each recalled they were told they were going on a mission to recruit new apprentices, not just students for the necrotic arts but other schools of magic as well.
However after a seven day journey they arrived on some unknown island and came back fewer in number. Each of them recounted what Iltar had told them; how he divulged the council’s secret then their subsequent arrival and actions on Soroth to follow through on what Iltar and the others had planned. For the bulk of the men, what they were told was perceived as truth, and they parroted it with sincerity.
However, those that went ashore and survived the encounter with the tarrasque did not disclose the events on the island’s interior; nor did they mention any truth about the three dragons they encountered except for them being purely unintelligent animals.
Iltar is the last to be questioned; the necromancer is sitting in the small office on the northwest side of the grand foyer. It’s a room that was once used for interviewing those who wished to become a part of the magical brotherhood.
Opposite him is a high ranking officer of the City Watch in charge of the interrogations, a discerner: A rank with the responsibility to oversee investigations into crimes. They prepare evidence of any nature to present before the judicial authorities.
The discerner is a tall muscular man that stands slightly higher than Iltar. His hair is short but wavy and is a light brown with dashes of gray. He is dressed in the traditional garb of the members of the City Watch; a charcoal tunic and pants that have three thin yellow stripes along the sides of the pant leg and along the long sleeves of the tunic. His clothes are thick due to the multiple layers of cloth and metal woven together to create a protective garb that commands respect and authority.
Around his waist is a belt adorned with various items; a pair of metal bindings used as handcuffs, a short metallic rod running the length of his right thigh to his knee. On the opposite side, is a sheathed sword with an ornate hilt of silver bearing the mark of the City Watch: an oval within it a straight double sided sword rising out of the water with a serpent wrapped around the length of the blade.
One question after another, Iltar patiently replies to the discerner.
“Tell me again, why did you murder them?” the discerner demands with his arms folded.
“I already told you, Brandir,” Iltar shakes his head, “They were a threat, and we were only defending ourselves. It would have been an inevitable battle. We simply made the choice that would limit the loss of life.”
“On your end perhaps!” Discerner Brandir retorts, swiftly rising from his chair and violently leaning forward into Iltar’s face. “What my men found did not look like self defense: Bodies mangled by deadly magic. Men twisted and deformed in ways that no one should ever see! You tortured those men before they died.”
“Of course I did,” Iltar’s tone is filled with annoyance toward the watchman’s sense of justice. “You don’t understand. Perhaps your mind is too small to comprehend what I’m telling you. They wanted a power that would plunge our people into destruction,” Iltar feigns sincerity towards the citizens of Soroth. “Those men had to be stopped.”
“So you’re telling me you did us a service?” Brandir laughs at the thought, “How do I know you didn’t try this beforehand. Maybe you enticed the acolytes to rebellion? Then when they failed, you killed all of them to erase any trace of your involvement. No matter how you try to spin it, you committed murder.”
“Then why didn’t I kill the council then?” Iltar’s shakes his head, “It’s no different. They were bound and barricaded in the council chambers. You’re theory is flawed. Just admit it… I’m telling the truth.”
Hearing the necromancer’s last statement, Brandir’s control over his anger wanes and it shows through his features; he turns away and lets out a deep breath as if it were his emotions being expunged from his body.
“You necromancers are nothing but trouble,” Brandir says with his back towards Iltar.
“That’s why they needed to be eliminated!” Iltar throws his hands in the air. “Don’t you see we share the same opinion? Like I said before, I am reconstituting the guild’s affairs. It will be restored to its original framework and a new council.”
“But it will still be controlled by a necromancer…” Brandir mutters in annoyance.
“Perhaps,” Iltar leans back in the chair, “Perhaps not. That is for the new council to decide.” Further anticipating the watchman’s thoughts, Iltar continues, “Even if I would have gone straight to the local authorities there would have been a terrible power struggle. Alacor would have struck out against anyone who was in his way to silence me.
“And if they would have survived they would have sent more men to their deaths.
“None of them, none of them,” Iltar repeats with a firmer tone, “Believed me about what happened on that island. You can search the Farling, Cornar’s house and this building. We found no artifact.”
“Your friend said the same thing,” Brandir says referring to Cornar and then turns to Iltar, but before he can speak the door opens.
“Discerner Brandir! We found scrolls and books that match what the man described to us,” a young watchman calls out from the open doorway.
“Bring them here,” Brandir tells the young watchman, and the latter runs out of the room.
After several moments of silence, two other City Watchmen enter the room, carrying a large trunk. They set it on the ground near the chair where Brandir was sitting. The senior watchman kneels by the chair’s armrest and lifts the unlocked lid.
Iltar sits back and watches as the contents of the chest are revealed. Among the stash of scroll cases are five crimson porous textured boxes familiar to Iltar as well as the two worn books.
“So that’s where they put them,” Iltar thinks to himself. It had taken the City Watch quite a while to find the ‘evidence’ planted by Tilthan and Kalder; enough time for each of the twenty one other men to be questioned by several discerners.
Amid Iltar’s thoughts, the watchmen in front of him discuss their discovery then Brandir turns to the necromancer.
“Are these what you were talking about?” Discerner Brandir points to the five odd scroll cases and the two old books; they were laying with several other cases and tomes of a newer nature.
“Yes…” the mastermind of the entire affair leans forward, “Those are the texts, at least the books. He could have put the scrolls in other cases, but those are the cases.”
Amid Iltar’s statement, another watchman enters the room and pulls Brandir aside, whispering into his ear. The watchmen who brought the chest are busy removing the contents and placing everything, including the five objects of note, on the desk just in front of the two chairs.
“My men say they can’t find any notation about scrolls or any tangible discovery from that expedition several months ago,” Brandir states then asks, “Care to explain that? And what of this Krindal that gave this report, where is he?”
Flabbergasted by the senior watchman’s questions, Iltar sighs and takes a moment to respond. “They were trying to keep a secret, why would we record such a thing in any of the notes of our meeting? And Krindal was sent on another expedition that would take ove
r a year. I am the only source of information you’ll get.”
“And that’s what disturbs me,” Brandir says as he walks out of the room.
Iltar turns to watch the men who are carefully opening the scroll cases and discovering the contents within them. While watching, Iltar thinks, “I hope they’ll be clumsy enough to damage the scrolls further. The more illegible the better.”
After several minutes of waiting, Brandir returns.
“You’re coming with me,” Brandir steps forward and removes the shackles at his side. “We are going to pay a visit to the governor.”
* * * * *
After a quarter of an hour, Iltar, Brandir and four other members of the City Watch, arrive at the Governor’s Manor; a grand estate that comprises the main capitol building of Soroth and the governor’s home. The capitol houses all the highest ranking officials’ offices for each of the Sorothian branches of government, including the City Watch.
The government complex sits in the south central part of the city, elevated from the streets around it by a manmade mound.
Around the borders of the Governor’s Manor, granite-like walls tower eight phineals above the raised ground. Their height and that of the mound equal sixteen phineals along the northern border and even higher along the other three sides, due to the sloping landscape of the city down to the shore.
Along the northern wall of the complex is the entrance; a gateway which is made of metallic rods and rests at the bottom of a gradual slope, whose base shares the same elevation as the street.
At the outer and inner areas of the gate stand four guards, members of the Guardians of Soroth; an organization responsible for protecting civil officials and many government structures. They are wearing thick brown plated armor that covers their entire bodies. Multiple pieces shield their more vital parts, allowing unimpeded mobility with their limbs. Their helmets are oval, round in the back and pointed in the lower front section.
The Dark Necromancer Page 26
